


Punks

by Ingridarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hair Dyeing, deja-ryu week, punkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9595283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingridarcher/pseuds/Ingridarcher
Summary: After the anti-omnic soldier Zarya joins Overwatch's ranks, Genji has a crisis of confidence about his humanity and place in Overwatch. Tracer decides the best solution is a bit of youthful rebellion.This is a platonic one-shot created for Deja-Ryu week, day 4: Punks.





	

Watchpoint: Gibraltar had a total of three private bathrooms. One was in the commander’s quarters, which even since the recall had remained empty. One was in Winston’s lab, built for the scientist’s unique dimensions. The last was in the lobby, where the Overwatch of old used to receive foreign dignitaries, politicians, notable activists, or new recruits. It was the last that brought the whole of the recalled Overwatch personnel into Gibraltar's lobby. Genji knew they were all out there, on the other side of the locked bathroom door. 

They were waiting to greet Overwatch’s newest member: Aleksandra Zaryanova, the professional weightlifter-turned-freedom fighter. Genji had met her once before, on their early missions to curb the massive manufacturing of Omnics in Siberia. She was strong, dedicated, masterful, and filled with hate for his Master’s kind. When she had found out the extent of Genji’s cybernetics, she had been clear about her distrust of him. Genji had met plenty of people who feared or judged what he was, but no one had ever spoke it aloud so plainly.

_ You are no longer a man, _ she had said.  _ Instead, now you are half an Omnic. _ Genji reached up, pulled his mask off, and stared in the mirror.

Maybe she was right. The face that looked back at him seemed barely human. The Dragon Scars webbed across what little was left of his skin, puckered lightning-bolt burns that spread over his face and body. His synthetic jaw was a mix of black rubber and metal hinges. 

An unkempt black tuft of hair crowned his head. The sides were metal plates with inputs and panels left for maintenance and repair. He kept his hair short only out of utility, and it was always pressed down from being under his helmet. There was a time in his life he wouldn't had dared let it look so messy, but the proud preening of his youth was long gone. Why bother when his face looked like this? He had barely begun to show his unmasked face around the other agents - maybe he should just shave his head.

Genji sighed, replaced his mask and helmet, and went outside to join the team in greeting Zarya.

The Watchpoint’s lobby was by far the eeriest room in the compound. While other areas, such as the dorms and common room had become lived-in and homey in the months since the recall, the lobby was a big, empty reminder of Overwatch’s golden days before the fall. There was propaganda in the architecture -  the high ceiling, the glittering tile, the overlooking walkway.  _ We are important, _ this room said. It made Genji feel small. 

Winston waited across from the main doors, fidgeting like he always did. The other Overwatch agents had fallen into two parallel lines that extended from the entryway to Winston, their commander. An old habit from Jack Morrison’s day. Genji folded into the line beside his master, Zenyatta. The familiar hum of his harmonic orbs helped Genji relax some. The entrance was a tall wall of glass, framed by a circular arch. Everyone stood a bit straighter when they saw her approaching from outside. The automatic doors whispered open, and Aleksandra Zaryanova marched inside.

Zarya was tall and serious with sleepy eyes and a chiseled jaw. Still, as heroic as she looked hefting her massive gun, she wasn't the picture of a hero like Jack Morrison had been. She had broad shoulders, bulging muscles, yet an almost doll-like face and pink hair. She spared a glare for Genji and his master.

Genji heard a familiar zip and pop at his side, and turned to find Tracer rocking on her heels next to him. She glared at Zarya as the weightlifter walked past them to shake hands with Winston. When Zarya’s back was to her, Tracer flipped her the bird.

Behind his mask, Genji smirked. “Not a fan of our newest recruit?”

In response, Tracer blew a raspberry. “She thinks every Omnic in the world ought to be scrapped.”

“Well, they did destroy her home,” Genji said. “Twice.”

“Still not a reason to hate every Omnic you meet.”

_ Not just Omnics,  _ Genji thought, but he said, “She has good hair, though.”

“I had better when I was in high school.” Tracer stuck out her tongue, cheeky.

“As did I,” Genji said. “Green. I had this orange scarf too - Hanzo used to call me a carrot.”

Tracer snorted to stifle a laugh, earning her an admonishing look from Winston. “Did it look good on you,” she asked him, keeping her voice down.

“Most things did back then. I was good-looking. Now-” Genji paused, “-that is not the case.”

Winston had finished greeting Zarya in an official capacity and now the Overwatch members were forming a less-official semicircle to shake hands and chat with her. Genji wasn't looking forward to Zarya’s stern, suspicious eyes, but his master, Zenyatta, floated placidly towards her, fearless as always. He moved to join the Zenyatta when Tracer’s hand grasped his shoulder, stopping him.

“Come on,” she said, nodding towards an exit off to the side that lead back towards the dorms and common room.

“Come on what,” Genji asked, puzzled. “Aren't we going to meet with Zaryanova?”

“Nah, she can stuff it. We're gonna dye your hair, luv.”

\--

“I forgot how much this itches.”

Genji was seated on the Watchpoint commons couch, the top half of his visor off to allow for the dye to set in the air. There was a time not so long ago that Genji wouldn't be caught dead out in the open without even part of his visor on, but he’d been encouraged by people like Tracer, D.Va, Mercy and Zenyatta to step outside his comfort zone. It helped that most everyone had eaten dinner and gone to bed in the time it had taken to bleach his dark hair. For now, it was just him and Tracer in the commons room, an old action movie playing on the vast television. Genji grimaced as the green dye prickled his scalp, and resisted the urge to itch it.

“Not as bad as the bleach, at least,” Tracer said from behind him. The commons was split into a sitting area where he was seated watching the TV, and a kitchen with snacks, drinks and a microwave. The crumbs on the counter, the wrappers left around the coffee table, and the always-misplaced remote all spoke of the recall. Unlike the empty shell of the Watchpoint lobby, the common room was like an ever-changing living thing. It was comforting.

Tracer rounded the couch and fell down beside Genji, carrying a big bowl of popcorn. She offered him some, but he waved it off. He didn’t want to take off the lower half of his mask, lest someone else come in. 

“I forgot how long it takes,” Genji said. “A whole day in the salon. It used to drive me crazy.”

“A salon?” Tracer scoffed. “No way! A true punker is DIY to the end.”

“You did your hair yourself?”

“Damn right, luv. All the time. Pissed my dad right off, hehe!”

“Uu-oh, so you were a rebel, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d sneak out and go to shows and rallies, flew the planes at the hangar without Dad’s permission. Drove him daffy. You were like that too, yeah?”

Genji smirked behind his mask. “Mm. Clubs, drinks, lovers. I was a total disgrace.” He laughed at the memory. 

“I would have liked to have met you when you were young. Bet you would have been a riot, hehe.”

“It feels so long ago now. Back then I was foolish, but I did not have the doubt I have now. I suppose that comes with growing up. I realize now I used to be very childish.” Ugh, he sounded so  _ responsible _ . What had happened to that rebellious man from his youth? Perhaps Hanzo truly  _ had _ killed him. 

“Oi, then.” Tracer elbowed him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little childish, even when you’re grown up. Everyone needs to let loose now and then.” 

“I rebelled plenty for one lifetime.”

“No way!” She leaned to catch his eye. “Rebellion is good. Winston recalling Overwatch, Mondotta fighting for Omnic rights - it’s good to stand up for what you think is right, even if other people want things to stay orderly. You didn’t like what your family was doing back when you were young, right? Have you changed your mind?”

Ganji frowned, looking down at his mechanical hands. “No.”

“Well, then,” she said, putting a thin-fingered hand on his shoulder. 

“But I hardly fought against it. I mostly shirked my duties and spent our family’s money.”

“Sometimes that’s the start. The big rebellions come with the confidence you get from the little ones.” The timer on Tracer’s watch started to beep. She looked down at her wrist and switched it off. “Y’know, like dying your hair. Come on. Time to rinse, luv.”

\--

The water was icy cool on his scalp. Green flowed down the edges of his blurred vision, dripping down the drain or spattering against the white linoleum of the Watchpoint’s communal shower. It was a long line of stalls, each with a cheap, white curtain that offered barely any privacy. Luckily, considering his mostly robotic body, Genji didn’t put much stock in privacy anymore.

Even so, Tracer insisted on standing a few feet away with her back turned. She piped at him from the wide basin sink on the wall opposite the shower stalls. “You sure you won’t, em, short circuit or something?”

“No,” Genji said, scrubbing his hair to get the remaining dye washed out. “Dr. Ziegler made me waterproof. I have to wash myself, you know?” 

“I thought maybe there were special, em, robo-showers, yeah?” 

Genji laughed. “What would that even be like?”

“Like a chinchilla, maybe? You take a bath in special Omnic dust or sommit.”

For a moment, Genji had the mental image of Master Zenyatta as a chinchilla, complete with harmony orbs and the Shambali light pattern on his forehead, rolling around in golden, synthetic dust. Tracer snorted with laughter when he relayed the image to her. 

“Alright,” Genji said, twisting off the faucet. The showerhead was reduced to a dribble. “I think it is all washed out.”

As he pushed the shower curtain aside, Genji was greeted with a ratty towel shoved in his face. The towel had, at one point, been white, but had been stained with various hair colors over time. Genji grabbed it and towel dried his face and hair, adding green to its rainbow of colors. When he was relatively dry, he slung the towel over his shoulders, running his mechanical fingers through his semidamp hair. “How does it look?”

Tracer had her hand over her eyes. “Are you decent?”

“It is how I always look, Ms. Oxton,” Genji laughed.

“So you’re just naked all the time?” Tracer moved her hand from her eyes, looking appalled. 

“Do not sound so scandalized,” he teased, tossing the wet towel at her.

With a whuff, she caught it, then snapped it between her hands. “Don’t make unleash my secret weapon at you, luv. I was the scourge of the locker room back in basic.”

Genji put up his hands, laughing. “I surrender! Come on, do not leave me in suspense. How does it look?”

“See for yourself, luv,” Tracer said, grinning and thumbing at the mirror above the sink beside her.

Bracing for disappointment, Genji chewed his lip as he turned to face his reflection.

There had been no expectation of a fairy-tale transformation, turned into a handsome prince by a bottle of green dye. Yet, he did feel  _ different _ when he looked at himself in the mirror. The webbed scars and black jaw seemed to fade into the background, and for a moment, he could see himself in the mirror as he used to be. The face he’d thought long lost stared back at him, somewhere in there. Genji ran his fingers through the green hair over and over, until it was just the right angle of wet and tousled, just as he used to when he was young. 

“You like it?”

Genji smirked at himself in the mirror, turning his chin one way and another, admiring his bone structure. “It looks very childish.”

“Yeah, but do you  _ like _ it?”

His reflection grinned at him. No, he didn't feel like a handsome prince, but for the first time in years, he felt almost proud of how he looked. He felt like himself - felt at least a little bit human. “Yes,” he said. “I like it very much.”

\--

The next morning, the motley crew of Overwatch’s agents were collected in the mess for their usual buffet-style breakfast. From out in the hallway, Genji could hear the yawns, the froggy voices, the clink of flatware. It was a full house in there. Genji remained outside the double doors, leaning against the wall and running his fingers nervously through his freshly-green hair. 

Master Zenyatta floated placidly beside him. “Shall we go inside, my student?”

“Yeah,” Genji said. “Yes, of course, Master.” He turned to walk in, but he felt a Zenyatta’s warm, metallic hand on his shoulder. He paused.

“You are uneasy,” Zenyatta observed. 

“It is nothing, Master.” Genji looked up and down the hallway. 

A cock of the Omnic’s head told Genji his master didn’t believe him. Zenyatta always seemed to know when something was wrong. Genji smoothed his exposed green hair again. “It is only that… many members of Overwatch have never seen me without my visor before. It might gross them out while they are eating.”

“Does it disgust  _ you  _ so much?”

Genji considered that. “Not anymore,” he said. “I’m used to it now.”  
“Do you not think they, too, will become used to you this way as well?”

A sigh sang out from Genji’s lungs. He looked down at his clasped, mechanical hands. “I suppose they will.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened. Zenyatta did not naturally perform these kinds of physical rituals - it was not something native to Omnic programming. He had learned them, in large part, to comfort Genji. For that, Genji was grateful. 

“It is your choice, my student,” Zenyatta said. “But I will be beside you.”

That made Genji smile. The lights on Zenyatta’s forehead flared - he was smiling back. 

Down at the end of the hall, Tracer rounded the corner with D.Va, an idol-turned-soldier for the Korean army and one of their newest Overwatch recruits. She and Genji had bonded over video games, and he found himself thinking of her now like a younger sister.

“Who’s that guy?” D.Va asked Tracer as they approached. “Whoa, Shimada, is that you?”

Looking down at his feet, Genji found himself running his hand through his shock of green hair again. “I am afraid so, Ms. Song.”

“I didn't expect the green hair. Totally out there. It looks good on you, though. Really cool.”

Surprising. No comments on his jaw or scars, the obvious mechanics built into his skull. Just the ostentatious hair. 

“Want to sit with us in the mess?” Tracer was grinning ear-to-ear.

After a nervous look at the double doors that lead into the mess, and to his master, Genji took a breath and nodded. Zenyatta clutched his shoulder again, and the four walked in together. 

At first, it seemed no one noticed. Then, gradually, the comforting hum of activity got quiet, replaced by muttered whispers. Genji shrugged into his shoulders, trying to hide as the four of them grabbed their breakfast. 

The mess had an open kitchen in the back, but for breakfast they usually set out a buffet line with a few international staples. D.Va took some soup and dumped a ton of chili paste into it. Tracer got yogurt and a bagel. Genji, who rarely ate at all, much less in the presence of others, made himself grab a bowl of rice. He snatched a fried egg and dropped it inside, mixing the whole thing together until it was yellow and gooey. They all got tea then and sat down at the long, communal table. 

McCree joined them immediately. “Well, now, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, wide-stepping over the bench to sit down. He laid down his half-eaten plate of sausage and grits at the spot across from Genji. “The green’s new.”

“Yes. Ms. Oxton did it yesterday,” Genji said, avoiding McCree’s keen, squinting eyes.

“Looks fine, real fine,” McCree crooned, smiling wide. 

“I could do yours if you like,” Tracer teased.

“Oh-ho, no, Ms. Tracer,” McCree laughed. “I don’t think I could pull that look off.”

It felt completely regular, sitting amidst his friends, getting comments on his new hairstyle instead of his char-broiled face. Feeling confident, he wondered why he had never done this before.

“Oh, hey,” Looking towards the entrance to the mess, D.Va stood up and waved her skinny arm like a flag. “Zarya!”

Looking over his shoulder, Genji spied the massive weightlifter standing between the long table and the buffet line, seeming a bit lost amidst the bustle of breakfast here. She was holding a heaping plate of meat and eggs in one hand. She finally spotted D.Va and gave her a sharp nod, walking over to their table. Genji turned and dipped his head, his confidence dissolving.

Tracer gave D.Va a hiss of disapproval, which earned her a smirk and a shrug from the unphased mech pilot. Zarya circled around and sat beside McCree. She was across from Genji and Zenyatta, both of whom she eyed warily. Genji ducked his head in an attempt to avoid her scrutinization. 

No such luck. Immediately, Zarya nodded her chiseled chin at him and said, “Who is this man? I did not meet him yesterday.”

“It’s Genji,” Tracer said, indignant. “You met him a few weeks ago, when we were in Russia.”

“Ah.” Zarya nodded, lips parted in understanding. “I see. You are the cyborg. I did not know you had a face.”

Direct as ever. Genji bowed his head, as if to hide the fact she’d pointed out. This was a mistake. He should have just worn his helmet, or at least the bottom half of his mask. 

Leaning across the table on her elbow, Tracer’s cheeks were puffed up and her brows pushed together.  _ Pissed off.  _ Genji knew enough about Tracer to know she was ready to start a fight. “You have something you want to say, Zaryanova?”

If Tracer was an unstoppable force, Zarya was an immovable object. She sat up straight, towering over the little speedster, with a chiseled frown. “How can Overwatch fight Omnics when they house them under their roof?” She thrust out her square chin at Genji and Zenyatta. “Am I to fight at their side? How can I trust a man who is half machine?”

For a moment, Genji felt that same twinge again as he had when Zarya had accused him of no longer being human. Perhaps he  _ didn’t  _ belong here among them. Feeling Zenyatta’s calming presence, he wished he was back in Nepal among the Shambali and the intense warmth of the Iris. It was safe there.

Then, as he looked away, ready to make a quick exit, Genji caught his reflection in the window. The distance made the reflection vague. From here he couldn’t really see his scars, just the shape of his human face, and the contrast of his dyed green hair. 

_ The big rebellions come with the confidence you get from the little ones.  _ Tracer was beside him, as was his master. McCree and D.Va - his friends, who had made him feel welcomed. He could be brave with them at his side.

“Now listen you-” Tracer began, ready to blow her top. Genji knew she would fight the battle for him if he let her. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. 

Turning to Zarya, Genji sat up straight, raising his black, synthetic chin. “The heart of a man still beats inside me,” he said. 

For a long moment, Genji and Zarya stared each other down. The weightlifter had calm, steely eyes that seemed to look through him. He felt hard judgement in that gaze, mean appraisal.  At last, Zarya replied with a short. “Hmph.” She went back to her food, shoving an overlarge bite of egg whites in her mouth. After some prolonged chewing, she looked him over again and said, “I like the hair.”


End file.
